Tales of Rage
by Celamity
Summary: A small collection of one shots from the happy world of Alaeth, the future Lady of Rage. Warning: Features wild variations in tone and mood, and may contain large amounts of Jansen.
1. One Touch

**One Touch**

The sounds of explosions were fading. Their captor had long since left the room, and nobody had attempted to enter the dank, murky chamber for quite a while.

It was time to act.

Moving slowly, he surveyed the scene before him.

Minsc, in a cage that had been welded shut. Stripped of his armor and sitting on the floor, alternating between sobbing and muttering to his hamster, he resembled nothing as much as a lost and confused child.

Alaeth, unconscious on the floor of one of the suspended cages, blood and fluid still seeping from her latest wounds, her clothing reduced to rags after numerous hurts, spells, and weapons had been inflicted upon her. The girl had resisted for the first few days - weeks? - but lately she had seemed to be resigned to her fate. That, or she had forgotten what it was like to not endure excruciating pain in almost every waking moment.

The earthly remains of what was once their friend Dynaheir, sprawled all over the bottom of one of the other suspended cages.

The third suspended cage was empty.

The fourth was not.

 _Don't look,_ he told himself. _It'll only make it worse._

He looked, of course.

Jaheira was awake and alert, pacing back and forth in the cage next to Minsc's. Every now and then she glanced in the direction of Alaeth's cage; sometimes, she looked towards the empty cage instead. Her facial expression was calm and controlled, but the fear underneath it was still clearly visible to anyone who knew her well enough. It was there in the darkness of her hazel eyes, in the small furrows on her otherwise smooth forehead, in the turn of the corners of her mouth, in the very way she paced her cage.

More than anything, he wanted to take the fear from her, to tell her it'd be all right and that everything would be fine. He wanted to hold her in his arms, to break her out of her cage, to walk out of this dungeon with her and face the warm sunlight again. He wanted to touch her again, just once.

The temptation was almost overwhelming. He could not have the other things, but he **could** have a single touch. Who would blame him, considering the circumstances?

 _I would. And so would she._

He allowed himself one more moment to look at her before turning towards the fourth suspended cage, where Imoen was kneeling on the floor and talking nervously with herself. The locks on the suspended cages had simple mechanisms; mounted out of reach from the inside, they could be opened by dislodging a single pin. Using every scrap of the force that had been granted him, he touched the lock on Imoen's cage, nudging the pin.

-.-.-

Imoen heard a slight clattering beside her. Turning around, she saw the pin that held the cage's lock together fall out, landing in the murky fluid under her with a soft plop. _Did the explosions damage it?_ She pushed the door tentatively. It budged. She pushed harder. The door flew open. Her blood rushing with excitement, Imoen jumped out of the cage and onto the solid floor and ran towards Alaeth's cage, fumbling with the lock as she shouted Alaeth's name in an attempt to wake her.

-.-.-

He watched as the two girls freed Jaheira and Minsc and fled the room with them. Jaheira's face still held an echo of fear, but it had also begun to show her old familiar determination. If anyone could get the children out of this hellhole, it would be her.

 _Take good care of them, my love. Don't despair, and don't be afraid. You are my strong, beautiful lioness; you can conquer anything. Be strong for them... for me. I... I will wait for you._

His grip was fading. Letting go at last, Khalid's spirit began his long, lonely journey to the fugue plane.


	2. The Ballad

**The Ballad**

The common room of the Copper Coronet was even more crowded than usual. Hendak had started hiring bard troupes lately, and the band he had found this week had been quite successful in attracting the commoners that dwelled near the inn.

"What is that song they're playing?" Alaeth asked, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the song and the general din.

"Oh, haven't you heard it? It's the ballad of the Hero of Baldur's Gate!" Aerie exclaimed.

Alaeth raised an eyebrow. "Really? It sounds more like the attack of the eight foot woman to me."

"They say her brother Sarevok was that tall," Aerie said.

"Sarevok being a freak of nature does not mean she had to be," Alaeth said. "Besides, from what I heard, she had pale blue eyes, not 'orbs that glowed like molten ice'." She laughed and sipped her mulled wine. "Molten ice, what a concept!"

"It's supposed to be poetic!" Aerie said. "Oooh, this is my favorite part; the duel with Tamoko."

"Excuse me, ladies," Yoshimo said. He left the table and headed upstairs to their rooms.

"Isn't it dramatic?" Aerie said with a sigh. "Sarevok's lover stands guard, and his sister challenges her to a duel, one on one! Oh, I wish I could be that brave!"

"Brave? Bloodthirsty, I'd call it. How can you admire this caricature of a woman?"

Aerie frowned. "That is easy for you to say."

"No, I want to know. The heroine of this travesty of a ballad is an eight foot woman with more muscles than a horse, flails wildly and randomly with a six foot broadsword - the way I heard it, she used a longsword or a regular two-hander - and just traipses around cutting down her brother's henchmen like they were air. How can you admire that?"

Aerie stood up and glared at Alaeth. "She is strong; I am weak. Ever since I first heard the ballad, I wished I could be like her!"

"Who is stopping you?" Alaeth said. She paused and listened to a few bars of the song.

"You know," she said to Aerie, "even this duel with Tamoko is all wrong. Sarevok's sister did not issue the challenge; Tamoko did. She said it was the only way she could regain her honor. Her lover's sister tried to refuse, but Tamoko would not let her back down."

Alaeth swallowed the last of her drink in one gulp. "So I didn't."


	3. Purely Business

**Purely business**

Rain poured down from the skies, drumming against the roof of the Copper Coronet and turning to streets into a slick, muddied mess. Lines of footprints tracked from the front door and across the floor of the inn.

Aerie drummed her fingers on the tabletop. The novelty of being in an inn instead of in a circus tent had far from worn off, but she would have to say that today would be boring. It was especially bad because everything they'd done yesterday had been for nothing; they'd helped that nasty dwarf get his book, but the poor book collector who was going to buy it had been killed, and they were left with nothing.

Except for the book, that was. What could it possibly be about?

Aerie walked towards the bar, where Korgan was sitting with a mug of ale in his hand. "Korgan?" she asked timidly. "I was wondering... could I look at that book we got yesterday? I... I'm curious about it."

"Har!" The dwarf spat on the floor; Aerie wrinkled her nose. He was so unpleasant! "Why would I still have that wad of bog paper?"

"But I saw you pick it up! You put it in your bag..."

"An' now it ain't there, girlie!"

"But what if it was valuable?" Aerie asked. "You... you didn't even know what it was!" The dwarf stared sullenly at her; she was certain another uncouth remark was ready on his lips. And then she understood.

"You sold it," she said. Korgan slowly lifted his mug and drank.

"When... when were you going to tell Alaeth you sold it?" she asked.

"What business is it of hers? Th' book was mine," the dwarf said.

"But what about the deal? You were going to share Pimlico's fee with us!"

"Pimlico's dead, th' deal is off."

"But she needs the money! You know she does!"

"Yer bleeding heart is leaking all o'er the floor, girlie," the horrid dwarf said. "Business is business! If ye need money that badly, I'm sure Lehtinan here can help ye come up with some." At that, the bartender grinned unpleasantly at Aerie.

"You... you are a horrid person, Korgan! I can't believe you say such things!" Aerie exclaimed. This was an outrage!

The dwarf leered at her. "Aye, that I am, lass!" he said. "An' were ye shorter and bearded I would be showing ye just how I acquired me reputation amongst the women of me clan!" The bartender laughed. Korgan downed his ale, tossed a coin to the bartender, and left.

-.-.-

Korgan headed for the stairs. There were no dwarven women in the inn, but there was a gnome that wasn't too bad other than the lack of beard...

"Hey, Korgan," Alaeth called out to him. She was sitting with that stuck-up cleric at a table right next to the steps. Oh well, business before pleasure.

"Ah, there ye be, lass," he started. "Now that the business with Shagbag an' me former mates be laid to rest, I be reminded of a former arrangement I've made. There be a man who were eager to hire me an' the others fer a bounty job. 'Twas no great thing, just a show of interest, but I've no desire to see me reputation go up in smoke, aye?"

"Of course not," Alaeth said.

Her fist came out of nowhere. It was an impressive punch, for a girlie, Korgan thought as his nose crunched. Then the pain hit him.

Next thing he knew, the priest had grabbed him by the collar and was holding him in the air.

"No business of mine, eh? Lehtinan can help us instead, eh?" Alaeth growled.

"Pud me don!" he bellowed, but the priest only lifted him higher. Korgan glanced towards Lehtinan. The innkeeper was suddenly very preoccupied with a beer barrel. There was a salty taste in Korgan's mouth; it was probably just the blood that dripped from his broken nose.

"Put him down, Anomen," Alaeth said.

"Where, my lady?" the son of a goat that fancied himself a paladin said. She pointed.

A few minutes later, Korgan regained consciousness on the wet cobblestones outside the Copper Coronet. The wretched elf girlie was standing in the doorway.

"Take... take care of yourself," she said. "Nobody else will." Then, she shut the door.

 _Bah! Longlimbs, who needs them?_ Korgan reached inside his hauberk, and swore as profusely as he could manage with a freshly broken nose.

They'd taken his coin purse!


	4. Undesired

_And in the aftermath of the prior chapter..._

* * *

 **Undesired**

It was still raining. Korgan's coin purse was still empty. His broken nose still hurt. None of those things mattered as much as they had a bottle of moonshine ago.

Not that he was drunk; he could hold his drink better than that! Aye, with four bottles left, he was just getting started!

Damned longlimbs. He'd see them all dead, he would! Especially... especially that brat of an elf girl!

-.-.-

Korgan peered into the half empty bottle.

Why couldn't he stop thinking about her?

Hells, he was well rid of her and her useless companions! None of them, not even their 'fearless leader', as the pathetic excuse for a mercenary that was Yoshimo called her, had the stomach for **real** business! Pansies, the lot of them! What use was the fire that lurked in Aerie's eyes whenever he goaded her if she was too spineless and cowardly to ever let it out?! Just think of how she could have been, if only...

If only...

 **No!**

He was **not** drawn to her! Who could be?! Such a pale, skinny, whimpering little thing with hair like gold - No! She was too tall and lanky for him, and he'd never liked 'em that way, either! Hells, she'd probably snap in two if a stout dwarf were to bed her properly! She'd... what **would** she like -

No, no, **NO!**

Korgan raised the bottle and downed the rest of its contents as fast as he could, then reached frantically for the next one.

-.-.-

When Korgan woke up, his head hurt worse than his nose. He lay in an alley, in a pile of garbage, and was nowhere near where he'd been drinking last night. He was probably lucky to be alive.

If lucky was the word for it.

Cursing fate, the world, the gods, the gnome that'd provided him with the donkey piss he'd drank last night, and his own stupid self, he stumbled towards his little bolthole on the docks. He had more than enough stashed away to get passage to Tethyr or Calimshan. Rumour was that several warlords were on the rise down south; he could hire with one of them and make his fortune far quicker than he would in this little cesspit of a town, where anyone could go soft before they knew it!

With luck, a few months of nice, bloody warfare - and not having to worry about ever seeing **her** again - would straighten out his stupid, soft, careless mind.


	5. Jan Jansen, Instrument of Talos

**Jan Jansen, Instrument of Talos**

The night was dark, but it was not in the least bit stormy, not even right outside the temple of Talos.

"I... I really think we should wait for Yoshimo," Aerie said, gazing nervously at the building.

Jan waved his hand dismissively. "Yoshimo's just a human. Yours truly has been pulling off capers like this since before he was born! And just imagine his face when you and me return and show him the amulet, now won't that be a sight? I imagine he'll look like aunt Pruina did when uncle Snappy first presented her with a hand-reared griffin that ate turnip peels! He'd gone on a quick stroll through the Calimshan desert, as you will, and came across the poor nipper sitting alone and forlorn by a watering hole. So, he sat himself down to eat a quick turnip, and handed the peels to the baby griffin, who of course had never tasted anything so delectable in its short life! It took one of his fingers off first, of course, but that was all uncle Snappy's fault, and he never blamed the griffin later. Named him Belchy, he did."

Aerie looked at Jan, then back at the building, then at Jan again. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"Oh yes! It'll be a lark!" Jan laughed. "Just remember to keep your boots of grounding on at all times."

"But... but why did you have to bring all those ...things?"

"My Flasher Master Bruiser Mates, you mean? Oh, I never go anywhere without them! In fact, that reminds me of another story..."

-.-.-

Getting inside was easier than boiling a turnip. Matching Talosian robes and a few words of mumbo jumbo got them past the guards, quick as you please, and it only took a few minutes to find the Weathermistress's chamber. Aerie, good girl that she was, put a spell of night vision on both of them, and in they went. The Weathermistress lay in bed, snoring softly. She was a big woman, even for a human, but she snored just like Jan's old grandmammy did. Such a charming sound!

Aerie gesticulated at the dresser. A large, shiny thing lay there.

Ah yes, the amulet!

Jan picked up the oversized necklace, turned to show it to Aerie, and tripped on a flimsy garment that lay on the floor. The amulet slipped from his fingers, flew through the air like a perfectly pitched sling bullet, and landed squarely on the Weathermistress's ample bosom.

-.-.-

"So, where have you two been?" Alaeth asked in a casual voice the following evening, when Jan and Aerie finally made it back to the Copper Coronet. There was a stern look on her face, as well as on the faces of all their other companions, except for Yoshimo, who looked quite amused.

Aerie blushed and began to stutter something about it being an accident. Jan decided it was best he did the explaining; otherwise, it wouldn't be interesting at all!

"All I will say is this," he said. "Having spent a night and a day hiding under the Weathermistress's bed, I can tell you that she does not live up to her reputation. But," he added, "I was probably better off for not having the mattress bounce against my nose! It is a delicate appendage, I'll have you know."

"Perhaps the Weathermistress has been busy with other matters today," Alaeth said, very calmly. "It seems she was visited by Talos himself last night. He appeared in a flash of lightning, and her amulet was blessed by his touch. It is now the main relic of the temple, and they have been holding ceremonies in its honour all day."

"We... we know," Aerie stammered.

"Do you also know how Mae'Var took this news?"

"He didn't decide to throw a three-day feast, did he?" Jan suggested.

"Absolutely not!" Anomen shouted. "He tried to have Alaeth locked up in his cellar dungeon!"

Jan winced. "How many survived?"

"Once she, Minsc, and our brave squire were done with them? Two," Yoshimo said. "Renal's men are sifting through the guild building now, and if you are very, very lucky, my friend, they'll find some evidence within of the sort we were sent to uncover."

"I see." Jan frowned, wondering what it would take to placate Renny this time.

"In other words," Alaeth said, "this had better be good."

Jan nodded. A grin slowly spread across his face. "Oh, my untrusting friend, you should know by now that it **always** is," he said. "Sit down, even if you're already sitting, and let me tell you how a dropped unmentionable and one of my trusty Flasher Master Bruiser Mates conspired to make yours truly, Jan Jansen, an instrument of Talos! Now, who'd have guessed a Talosian would think a stunning flash of light was a visitation from her deity? Why, it makes as much sense as mustard on a porcupine! But I suppose that might make sense, if one happened to enjoy a delectable porcupine every now and then. Anyway, there we were, sneaking bravely through the temple..."


	6. Point of View

**Point of View**

Aerie tiptoed down the nasty pink corridor, trying her best to avoid the spots where the floor pulsated. She couldn't afford to slip.

How could she have let them talk her into this?

She should have stayed near the central chamber. She should have helped her friends handle the group of blind priests that Yoshimo had seen there. If nothing else, she could have healed them. _But they won't need me. Anomen can heal, too, and when Alaeth gets_ _ **that**_ _way..._ Only yesterday, she'd seen Alaeth go up against four umberhulks alone while in a berserker rage; when it'd passed, the monsters had been dead, and Alaeth had only suffered a few scratches and a shallow bite wound. No, they wouldn't need her.

Aerie's heart raced in her chest as she approached the spot Yoshimo'd told her about. She knew the invisibility draught would keep the beholder and the gauths from seeing her, but would they hear her footsteps? Would they hear her heartbeat, which rang in her head like a trapped bird fighting its cage?

She gripped the wand more tightly.

Beholders and gauths had one great weakness, the poor blind men near the entrance to this horrid place had said. That weakness was the cloudkill spell. The poisonous fog could seep through their skin without the monsters noticing, and a single cast of the spell could outright kill a beholder if it didn't move out of the cloud. The problem was only that the creatures would chase anyone they saw, and anyone trying to cast that spell near them would be killed or worse before the spell was half done.

A wand of cloudkill, on the other hand, needed only a moment to set off the spell.

Aerie peeked around a reddish thing she tried to think of as a boulder. The beholder was right there, surrounded by four or five gauths. One of them was looking in her direction, but didn't notice her; the spell in the invisibility potion held up, at least. Biting her lip, she reached into her beltpouch for another draught of the potion. She needed to drink it as soon as she'd activated the wand, or...

She had no idea what it'd feel like to be petrified. Or to be imprisoned. All she knew was that it had to be far, far worse than the circus.

 _Oh, I can't keep thinking like this! Alaeth wouldn't be this scared. Why can't I be brave, like her?_

The gauth turned around; now, all of them were looking away from Aerie.

 _Baervan, help me!_ She raised a trembling arm, aimed her cloudkill wand at the beholder, and activated it. The spell soared through the air. She ducked behind the 'boulder' and drank down the invisibility potion.

Nothing happened.

She peered around the edge of the boulder. The spell had landed; a greenish-yellow mist surrounded the beholder and the gauths, but the monsters just sat there. Aerie stared at the group as one by one, the gauths gasped and fell to the ground, dead. The beholder looked around in confusion, and died.

She stifled a shout. It had worked! The monsters were dead!

 _ **I**_ _killed them!_

Elated, Aerie ran towards the second spot Yoshimo had told her about.

-.-.-

The group rejoined with Aerie in the side cavern that held the second half of the rift device. The beholder that had guarded it lay dead on the ground, just like the other beholders in the caverns. The elf stood in front of the beholder's corpse, clutching the cloudkill wand in her small fist and laughing with glee at her accomplishment.


	7. Harper Business

**Harper Business**

There was something smellier than even Aunt Petruska's turnip curds about the whole situation, Jan thought as he looked around the room. Harpers weren't supposed to be this fond of polished marble, for one thing; it kind of put a dent in their whole self-sacrificing busybody organization image, at least as far as he was concerned. He also was fairly certain that Galvarey, the man who was arguing with Jaheira, shouldn't really be covered in gold and silks. Jaheira could have been making up everything she'd told them about the Harpers so far, of course, but the lass really did seem to believe what she preached...

Alaeth, standing on the other side of the room with her arms crossed, looked a bit uneasy, too, unless it was just her lunch disagreeing with her and as he, Jan Jansen, had concocted their repast for the day, that was clearly impossible; uneasy it was, then. Jaheira and that Galvarey fellow still hadn't explained why it was so important to bring Alaeth to talk to the Harpers; they were still busy arguing in low voices and generally being poor hosts to their uninformed lady guest. There were about a half dozen other Harpers in the building, milling around and looking uninterested, as well as a robed man whose appearance practically oozed 'wizard'. He didn't mill around, he just stood there, almost as if he were pretending to be a bored statue. Jan didn't like it one bit, neither his pose nor his presence.

Jan had just started counting down the minutes until Alaeth would lose her patience when Jaheira and Galvarey finished exchanging sweet nothings, or whatever it was that they had to talk about, and moved towards Alaeth. "Now then, Alaeth, do you know why you are here?" Galvarey asked.

"I am here because Harpers enjoy meddling in the affairs of others," Alaeth said. Even from across the room, Jan could clearly see her scowl.

"Mind yourself, Alaeth, this is very serious," Jaheira said.

"No need to scold, Jaheira, she was just trying to turn the conversation in her favor," Galvarey said. "No, you are here because of who and what you are."

The reason came as no surprise; they had all suspected this little interview would have to do with that. But there was something in the man's voice that Jan did not like.

"Let me ask you a few things straight away, Alaeth," Galvarey continued. "Nothing too intrusive, I assure you. What are your earliest memories? Are they happy ones?"

"Well, I remember coming in that door behind me," Alaeth said lazily. "Beyond that it is all a blur. Sorry." _That's my lass,_ Jan thought proudly.

Galvarey shook his head, looking like he was trying to look sad on her behalf. "You are very combative. Not good. Not good at all. This only supports my position, as I knew it would. Next question then..."

 _He's right! This is not good at all,_ Jan decided as the gaudy Harper went on with his questioning. He studiously folded his hands in front of him.

-.-.-

A young elven girl with a fearful look in her large, blue eyes hurried towards the entrance to the Harper hold. The door guard turned to face her. "Is there something you need?" he asked, trying to sound both friendly and dismissive at the same time; his job was to deter loiterers and busybodies, even if they were beautiful girls, but if she truly did need assistance...

"P-please," the girl stammered, "two men are following me!" She was trembling all over, and her long golden tresses shifted with every movement.

The guard looked in the direction the girl had come from. "I don't see anyone."

"Wa-hey!" someone cried behind him. The world went black.

-.-.-

The interview was only getting worse. Jan unfolded his hands, and instead clasped his left wrist with his right hand.

"This is nonsense!" Jaheira complained, clearly smart enough to agree with Jan Jansen about the state of affairs. "You are so intent on seeing what you wish that the answer does not matter!"

"In part, it does not," Galvarey said. "Isn't is obvious that she causes much disturbance where e'er she goes? My interview is just to clarify the matter."

"But you were to see Alaeth as she is, not as you expected her to be!" Jaheira protested. "I was to bring her here so -"

"You were to bring her here so that we might have her here, nothing more. The course of action was always clear."

"Galvarey, this is not as we had discussed -"

"No, but you only needed to know enough to bring her here. Extraneous information would have endangered the mission. As Harpers we -"

"As Harpers we respect others!"

"We have a greater duty to maintain the balance. How can you, as a Harper... as a DRUID, sanction the freedom of such a creature? No, there is no choice in the matter; it is simply not worth the risk. Alaeth must be... confined."

"It is as good as death and you know it, Galvarey!"

"Nothing so barbaric. Imprisonment to contain the chaos she might sow, either intentionally or unwittingly. It is a humane solution."

"What makes you think I'd let you do that to me?" Alaeth asked in her best very calm and very angry voice.

Galvarey scoffed. "You have no voice here, and little choice in the matter," he said, and signalled the wizard. "Certainly you can fight, but there are six Harpers to contend with. The odds are quite clearly -"

"Nay, Galvarey, there is but you and your four lackeys. I will have no part in this!" Jaheira cried."

"Three, actually," Jan said, his voice coming from the mouth of the Harper closest to the wizard. He ended the polymorph spell that had disguised him as a human - oh, but it felt good to have his own nose back! - and headbutted the wizard's belly, efficiently interrupting the robed wonder's casting of the Imprisonment spell.

"Treachery!" Galvarey cried.

"Yes, treachery," Alaeth snarled, a small and nasty grin forming on her lips, and then the door burst wide open. Anomen and Minsc and little Aerie poured in through it as much at the same time as was possible, Anomen handed Alaeth her sword, and then the fun began.

-.-.-

Yoshimo carefully climbed down from his perch near one of the Harper hold's skylights. From there, he'd relayed Jan's signals about the state of things to the rest of the group, and from there, he'd had the perfect view of the group as they dealt with Galvarey and his minions with their usual efficient destructiveness. Now, the Harpers and their pet wizard all lay dead on the bloodstained floor below; Jaheira stood alone in their midst, the only living being in the room.

"Farewell, Jaheira," Yoshimo murmured at the skylight.

Whether or not the abandoned druid had known she was leading Alaeth into a trap when she started this, Yoshimo couldn't help but feel a little for her.


	8. Over the Edge

**Over the Edge**

This was not how it was supposed to happen.

He had come to confront Saerk with their suspicions, to have the scoundrel confess his part in Moira's death. Then, he would have had him brought before the courts.

Anomen glanced around the room as the red haze of anger faded from his mind. Aerie stood in a corner, looking as though she were about to throw up; Minsc was patting her hand. Yoshimo was cleaning his blade with a scrap of a dead guard's tunic. For once in his life, Jan appeared to be at a loss for words.

Saerk's body lay crumpled at Anomen's feet, beaten into an almost unrecognizable mass. He could barely remember the obscenities that Saerk had spouted, goading him into attacking; the mouth that had spewed those hateful words had been completely obliterated, along with the rest of the merchant's head.

The body of Saerk's daughter lay a short distance away. Her one remaining eye stared blindly, accusingly, at him.

"What have I done," he whispered.

"You avenged your sister." Alaeth said softly from behind him. "He would never have been brought to justice in any other way."

"But his daughter..." By Helm, he never should have laid hands on her. How could he have done such a thing?

"You let yourself go, and she got in your path," Alaeth said. "It was an accident."

He turned and looked into her eyes, and found only understanding.

She was right. It had been an accident. It would not happen again, and he would atone for it; he would push himself twice as hard to fulfill the tenets of the Order. Surely he would be allowed this one indiscretion, if he could keep to an otherwise flawless path!

"Let us leave this place," Alaeth said, and took him by the arm. He followed obediently, willing himself to not think of how easily he had given in to his fury.

Or about how much he had enjoyed it.


	9. Failure

**Failure**

Minsc's patience was wearing thin - there was heroing to be done, and that rascal Jan was trying to trick Boo again - but he had promised Alaeth that he would watch over little Aerie while they waited, so watch and wait he did, right up until the moment he finally saw Alaeth and Anomen come out of Anomen's Lodge's headquarters again.

"Uh-oh," he told Boo quietly. Little Anomen did not look happy. He looked like he had eaten too many hot peppers and now they were upsetting his tummy, but Boo was right; Minsc didn't think that was the problem at all.

"Wh-what happened?" Aerie asked. Alaeth just shook her head.

"It would appear that the verdict was not the one our good cleric hoped for," Yoshimo murmured.

"Helm's beard! I cannot believe this!" Anomen cried. "All my life! All my life I've slaved for the Order and now I am cast aside like garbage! Curse them all!"

"Calm yourself," Alaeth said. "It's not necessarily such a bad thing."

"Not necessarily... You do not understand what it is like to have everything torn from your grasp and thrown in your face!"

Alaeth's face turned hard. "Don't I?" she asked. "Look, life is difficult. Accept it."

"Shut your foolish mouth!" Anomen shouted. "Everything I've worked for is gone! All that I want is denied me! I cannot simply accept this."

"It would seem that the Prelate's decision is irreversible. There is nothing that we can do but move on and return to the road," Alaeth said in the very calm voice that Minsc knew she only used when she was very very angry. He started to get a bit worried.

"Perhaps," Anomen replied, using the same kind of calm voice that wasn't really calm at all. "Or perhaps I should slaughter the whole lot of them."

Alaeth laughed, not the happy kind or the triumphant kind but the bad, jeering kind of laugh. "What an excellent idea!"

"You dare to mock me?!" Anomen bellowed. His face turned very, very red, and he moved towards Alaeth. Minsc moved too - he would not let any angry clerics attack his charge, not even if they were friends! - but Alaeth was faster. Quick as lighting, she grabbed Anomen by the collar of his tunic and slammed him into the closest wall, hard enough to make bits of plaster fall off the wall. She held him like that for what seemed to be a very long time, but Boo said it was only a handful of seconds.

"Get a hold of yourself, Anomen," she said. Her not-really-calm voice had turned into a sort of growl that made the little hairs on Minsc's arms stand on end. "Let's get away from here before you get yourself killed."

Anomen's face turned white instead of red. He looked like he couldn't decide whether he was more angry at her or more afraid of her. "All right," he snapped. "Then go. I will follow."

Alaeth let go of him, and headed down the street towards the slums and the Copper Coronet. Just like he'd said he would, Anomen followed her.

"I feel a tale coming on..." Jan said.

"Boo says 'Not now'."

"Unfortunately, I think Boo is quite right," the gnome said with a sigh.


	10. How to Skin a Dragon

**How to Skin a Dragon**

A human, an elf, and a gnome entered Cromwell's smithy.

"Well, if it isn't Jan Jansen!" Cromwell called out. The gnome had come by his smithy more than once, sometimes to commission a small trinket for his inventions, and sometimes just to share stories. The giant human and the timid-looking elf, however, were strangers to the blacksmith. "What can I do for ye?"

Ah, Crommy, just wait till you see what I have for you this time!" Jansen exclaimed with a broad grin. "Minsc, show him."

The giant stepped forward and emptied a sack onto Cromwell's work table. A pile of brilliant red scales poured out of the sack, covering the table and falling on to the floor.

Cromwell picked up one of the scales and examined it. "Ah! Genuine scales from a red dragon! An impressive catch, me friend!"

"That it was, that it was," Jansen said. "Could you use it to make some armor for Minscy here?"

"Aye, indeed! It shall make a grand suit of armor," Cromwell said, running his hands across the scales and sorting them into piles according to size and quality. "So, how did ye come by such grand materials?"

"I'm glad you asked, for it's quite an interesting tale, almost as exciting as when my great-aunt Robusta went griffin-hunting with a rope made of turnip peel!" Jansen said. "So, there we were, deep in a dungeon, and this dragon was chasing us. He wasn't after all of us, mind you, but he did have it in for Alaeth - that's our leader - on account of her foster daddy injuring him some thirty years ago. The rest of us were just there for the ride. And you know a dragon is not fought lightly, of course."

"Of course," Cromwell said, still sorting the scales. They were of very high quality; none were broken or scorched. Ah, it would be a fine challenge of his skills to do justice to such excellent materials!

"Me and Aerie here," Jansen said, gesturing at the elf, "had done our best to weaken the dragon, but it was not enough. And then she had this great idea! Aerie collects wands, you see..."

"I.. I like them," the elf said with a shy smile, "most of them are very pretty."

"Me, I prefer what my hands can do, or my trusty inventions," Jansen continued, "but anyway, we'd just found a wand of polymorphing. Now, you never know what you get with a trick wand like that; you might as well get two dragons or a turnip golem as anything that'd help you, you know."

I be familiar with that wand," Cromwell said. Wands of polymorphing could only hold one charge of the spell, shattering when it was released, and the spell itself was notoriously fickle. He thought it had been invented by a very bored wizard.

"Still, Aerie decided to use the wand on the dragon. And wouldn't you know, before you could say 'stupendously incriminating cerebellar ramifications', the dragon went poof! and in its place..."

"It was a little squirrel!" the elf exclaimed, blushing with excitement.

"Indeed, it was a squirrel, smaller than a small thing, and our fearless leader promptly walked up to it and stepped on it."

"Boo might have made friends with it," the giant said wistfully.

"Ah, come now, Boo can make far better friends than that," Jansen said, winking at the giant. "After that, it was just a matter of dispelling the corpse and harvesting. Easier than turnip pie!"

"A squirrel, ye say?" Cromwell said. He picked up a handful of the smallest scales, let them trickle out of his hands, and laughed heartily. _A squirrel!_ He didn't believe a single word - even with the others backing him up, Jan Jansen was still Jan Jansen - but by Moradin, that was one of the best tales the gnome had ever managed to spin for him!


	11. Sound and Fury

**Sound and Fury**

It had been just another night of guard duty until the gnome showed up. Bold as brass and wearing a robe even gaudier than Mistress Galvena's dresses, he was walking straight towards Desharik's ship.

"Halt!" the guard cried out, and drew his saber. He'd never liked gnomes; it would be a pleasure to teach this one a lesson for trespassing.

The gnome stopped. And laughed.

"Prepare to meet your DOOOOM!" the gnome cried out, and with a strange, cackling laugh, he pulled an odd-looking thing that kind of resembled a crossbow from his back. Moments later, something struck the guard in his chest, knocking him backwards.

As the guard lay on the ground, struggling to catch his breath, he saw there were now half a dozen gnomes on the dock. His comrades were drawing their sabers and slowly advancing on the painfully bright mass of diminutive bodies, only to be pelted by what looked like rocks that exploded in a flash of powder.

The guard got to his feet. No gnome would get the better of him! "After him, lads!" he shouted, and raised his blade.

The gnome cackled madly. "Beware, your knees are mine!" he shouted, and ran down the docks with all the guards in hot pursuit.

-.-.-

"Well, this isn't boring, I'll give it that," Jan remarked. Their hiding place behind a cluster of barrels had offered a perfect view of both the guards and of Jan's simulacrum, and even Anomen had to admit that the decoy had been most impressive. Not that he'd admit that to the gnome, of course.

"Indeed, but we must hurry back!" Anomen said impatiently. "We must help Minsc escort the ladies to the ship before the guards return!"

Jan sighed. "That's the problem with you youngsters. You never take the time to appreciate the subtleties of life! And that simulacrum will last quite a while, more than long enough to lead them on a merry griffin chase around town. Why, this reminds me of my uncle Bren. He once wrote a simulacrum spell on a turnip -"

"Later," Anomen said sharply, and hurried up the path back to the others.

"No time like the present!" Jan said, trotting along behind Anomen and still running his wretched mouth off. "You see, when my uncle cast that simulacrum, it was so infused with the magnificent turnip juices that the spell never ended! For a while, we had two uncles Bren, but one day one of them decided to put on a girdle of gender..."

One day, Anomen told himself as the horrible gnome droned on, never more than two steps behind him. One day, they would no longer need his bag of tricks.

"...So then it all ended in a wedding, and sharpen your ears now, Ano, for that is a whole other tale..."

As far as Anomen was concerned, that day could not come soon enough.


	12. Answers

**Answers**

Yoshimo lay spreadeagled on the cold stone floor of Spellhold's basement.

He did not have long to live. His thigh had been cut to the bone, and only Anomen's hand pressing against the wound kept his life from bleeding away instantly. His spine was broken. A large gash across his belly exposed his entrails.

"So, what happened to all your talk about honour, and independence?" Alaeth growled. "Why in all the hells would you accept a gods-damned geas, and from that monster? What did you think you were doing?!"

Yoshimo's mouth opened slightly. His lips were turning pale, and his face was contorted in a grimace of pain. "Sister," he rasped.

"Sister?"

"Tamoko."

Alaeth stared at him. "Tamoko? For Tamoko's sake, you... you..." She laughed bitterly. "You unimaginable fool! What did they tell you; that I slit her throat while she slept?! **She** challenged **me**! I even offered her the chance to walk away, but she insisted upon fighting! Her death was her own damned fault, and if anyone has breached your precious Kara-Turan rules of honour in this matter, it is **you**!"

A look of despair and shame crossed Yoshimo's face, then agony seized him, and he groaned in pain. Large blisters appeared on his skin.

"This is not right," Minsc said in a troubled voice.

"'Tis the geas," Anomen muttered. The blisters grew larger and cracked; black ichor seeped from them. Yoshimo's groans of pain turned into shrieks.

"For p-pity's sake, Alaeth!" Aerie pleaded.

With one swift movement, Alaeth stabbed her blade through Yoshimo's heart. His upper body convulsed one final time, then he lay still, the light of life gone from his eyes.

Alaeth pulled her sword from his body, and wiped the blade clean on his tunic sleeve. "Let's get going," she said tonelessly.


	13. Intersection

**Intersection**

"Enter."

Steeling herself, Jaheira pushed open the door to the largest room in the Copper Coronet. Alaeth sat on the bed, toying with a bundle of wooden stakes; at the sound of the door, the girl looked up and gave Jaheira an icy glare.

She looked terrible.

Their paths had not crossed since the day Galvarey attempted to cast Imprisonment on the Bhaalspawn. Since then, Alaeth had become paler, earned some more scars, and her eyes...

Jaheira looked away. _By Silvanus, no living eyes should look like that!_

"What do you want?" the girl asked.

"I heard of your task," Jaheira said.

"Hmpf. Of course you did. Harpers can't help sticking their nose where it doesn't belong, after all."

"Your call for assistance **was** city-wide."

"So what if it was? I want no more 'assistance' from Harpers."

The false Harpers had been rooted out - Jaheira had seen to it herself - but she knew that would hardly make a difference to Alaeth. And besides... "I come alone," she said.

"I want no more of your lectures, either. No more talk of your precious balance, no more talk of stemming my evil taint, and no more talk of my unnatural nature!"

"I know what you are up against -"

"How could you possibly have the faintest -"

"I **said** , I know. You are going to fight Bodhi, and after her, Irenicus. I want to fight with you."

"Still trying to protect Gorion's poor little ward, are you? Didn't I tell you clearly enough that your obligation was well past fulfilled after Galvarey's little stunt? Didn't I tell you clearly enough that I NEVER WANTED TO SEE YOU AGAIN?!"

"This is not about you."

"Then what?!"

"This is about my revenge."

The girl looked at Jaheira. She met her gaze, refusing to let herself be disturbed by the faint, golden light that now shone from Alaeth's dull eyes.

"We leave at dawn," Alaeth said. "Be ready."


	14. Evening in Suldanessellar

**Evening in Suldanessellar**

It was a calm, warm evening, and the summer stars were appearing overhead. Alaeth lay on her back on the balcony that surrounded their hut and idly picked out constellations, taking in the tranquility of the evening. On the platforms below her, the evening life of Suldanessellar went about in its quiet, solemn, boring manner. She sighed. Sometimes, she wished Jaheira had not insisted they stay and help rebuild the city; by now, she knew Jaheira felt the same way. The elves of queen Ellesime - who was gracious enough to feel a flicker of partial responsibility for what had happened, Alaeth thought wryly - were quite disdainful of any 'lesser' peoples, and half elves, even half elves who were working long hours to heal their precious tree of life, were clearly amongst those lesser people. Even Aerie had been patronized by the elves; to begin with, anyway.

Alaeth smiled as she recalled how much their wingless Avariel had changed. When they entered the elven city, she had been as timid as ever, but somewhere in the ensuing battles she'd finally found her strength. Dealing the deathblow to the black dragon had been the trigger, perhaps; these days Aerie would walk around the city with her head held high and her body sheathed in an exquisite suit of elven chainmail from the dragon's hoard. Minsc was never far behind her, but the way Aerie would look into the eyes of every city elf that spoke with her said that his protection, appreciated though it was, was no longer a necessity for her.

The curtains rustled softly, then parted. "Hey, it's me," Imoen said as she stepped out on to the balcony.

Alaeth sat up and smiled at her sister. Colour had finally returned to Immy's face, but the streaks of white in her hair were becoming more visible every day. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

Imoen shrugged. "I feel all right, I guess," she said, looking around. "Where's Anomen?"

"I think he's polishing his hammer," Alaeth deadpanned. Imoen stared at her, then burst out laughing. "Hey, I'm serious!" Alaeth said, mock-indignant.

"I know, I know," Imoen laughed. "Are you sure he's not really still with the Order?"

"He's still a Helmite. You can take them out of the Order, but you can't take them away from the armor polish."

"Oh, I'm sure he'd give it up if **you** asked him," Imoen said.

"Nah, I like him like this," Alaeth said with a grin. Her lover's meticulousness had its advantages; he cleaned and inspected her swords and chainmail as thoroughly as he did his own gear, sparing her a chore that she'd never really cared for.

Imoen sat down on the edge of the balcony next to Alaeth and let her legs hang over the edge. "Want a cookie?" she asked.

"Of course!"

Imoen handed Alaeth a large, chunky fruit cookie - they were a local specialty, usually made for elven children - and retrieved a second for herself from a robe pocket. The two sisters munched contentedly, flicking crumbs downwards.

A flash of light in the distance, followed by a loud and vaguely rude noise, interrupted the quiet evening. Elven voices could be heard, shouting angrily. Alaeth sighed.

"Jan," she groaned.

"I'll never understand why you let him come with you in the first place," Imoen said.

"He didn't seem so bad at the time," Alaeth replied. "And I was glad to accept anyone's aid." Jan was still fairly useful in combat, but all he did in between skirmishes was make joke gadgets and rile up Anomen. They hadn't been in battle for quite a while now, and Alaeth's patience with the gnome was wearing thin.

She was tired of the elven city, too. Endless days of ceremonial daily routines were not for her, and if her friends didn't get anything meaningful to do soon, they'd probably rip each other apart. Their rebuilding efforts were barely recognized, and every day, more and more elves looked strangely at her and Imoen. The Bhaalspawn. She knew there'd been news of other Bhaalspawn down south; 'sowing chaos', as it were.

Looking into their activities would probably be more fruitful than trying to do anything more in Suldanessellar. And it was bound to be far more interesting.

"Immy?"

"Yep?"

"I think it's time we left."


	15. Pursuit

**Pursuit**

It was in Baldur's Gate that 'Lucky' Aello first became aware of her. She was Alaeth, the murderer of Sarevok, and with one look at her, he had known. She possessed the same thing that had drawn him to Sarevok; the same tainted blood that he himself shared.

Sarevok had been too well protected, too surrounded by minions, and he had never managed to get close to him - his attempt to join the Iron Throne had been met with scorn and open disdain of his knowledge of poisons. Alaeth, however, had only a small group of companions, and no fortified compound to hide within. He had not been able to murder Sarevok, but how much better would it not be to murder Sarevok's killer?

When Alaeth left Baldur's Gate, he closed down his potions shop (he did not care for it, would not miss it, and besides, the Flaming Fist were starting to notice how often the potions he sold were 'flawed') and followed her.

-.-.-

Rumour bred in Alaeth's wake, and many eyes watched warily as she passed. Thus, he followed her path with ease through Beregost and Gullykin, where she was said to have headed south, towards Nashkel.

Her trail ended there. She never arrived in Nashkel, and was not known to be elsewhere. It was if she had vanished in thin air.

-.-.-

It was half a year later that he heard Alaeth's name again. She was in Amn, in Athkatla! He made his way there with all haste, only to find that she had departed for unknown lands on a ship the day before he arrived. He cursed his luck, and settled down to wait in the city of coin.

-.-.-

She reemerged in the south as summer waned, in an elven city he could not hope to penetrate. He went to Trademeet, as close as he could comfortably get, and when she passed through the forest of Tethyr, he heard of it. He even learned where she was headed: Saradush, the eye of a building storm that she seemed intent upon entering.

-.-.-

Finally, they were both in the same city, and at the same time! Not even the fact that Saradush under siege bothered him - Alaeth was as trapped as he, and when his work was done, there were several more of their siblings here for him to murder. He moved purposefully towards the inn where she stayed, wondering what would be the best approach. Poison on her sheets, or in her food? Slow working poison in the inn's food stores, undetectable until its effects set in?

Or just kill her on the street - she was there, right in front of him!

He moved purposefully towards Alaeth. Her companion Imoen stared at him in fear, or horror - did the girl remember him from Baldur's Gate? Had she guessed his intent? "Watch out!" Imoen cried.

Then, there was fire.

-.-.-

"He never even saw it coming," Imoen said, looking down at the man who had just been killed by one of the fire giants' burning projectiles. "He wasn't paying attention at all."

Before their eyes, the man's body dissolved in a small puff of golden sparks.

"Oh," Imoen said.

Alaeth shrugged. "Can't even throw a stone without hitting a Bhaalspawn in this town, it seems."


	16. Taming of the Sword

**Taming of the Sword**

"You know, once, long time ago, I was, like, a Moonblade," Lilarcor said in what the sword undoubtedly thought was a suave, casual tone. Alaeth rolled her eyes; she knew what was coming next.

"Minsc knows, Larry!" the large ranger said as he finished rinsing blood from the sentient blade. "You said so before."

"I'm just saying, I'm a class act! No sir, nobody better at the killing and maiming!"

Alaeth had really started to hate that damned sword. The boasting, the bragging, the innuendo towards her own blade Varscona... "It's more in the wielder than in the sword, you know," she said.

"Oh, you wanna wield me? You know you do! Let me nestle in your scabbard, and I'll be ready for action any time! Yeah!"

"That's no way to talk to little Alaeth," Minsc admonished the sword.

"It's all right, Minsc," Alaeth said through clenched teeth. "Let me borrow it for a moment."

"I'm not an it! I'm a him! Hey, your grip's all wrong!" Lilarcor said as Minsc handed the blade to Alaeth. She ignored Lilarcor's complaints and headed for the corner of the pocket plane where Cespenar usually stayed.

-.-.-

"Here's your sword," Alaeth said as she handed Lilarcor back to Minsc. "I think he'll mind his manners from now on."

"Kill... kill..." the sword muttered in a low, monotonous voice.

"Little Alaeth and Larry are agreed, then? Minsc is happy, for we fight best when all heroes are friends!"

"Yes, we are agreed," Alaeth said with a cold smile.

"And you've even given Larry a decoration!" Minsc said happily.

"Well, I meant it mostly as an enhancement, but you're right, it is kind of pretty," Alaeth said, admiring the way the freshly attached illithid control circlet wound around Lilarcor's hilt.


	17. Just Desserts

_Note: this is the oldest of my Jan stories, which may explain why he's a little out of character compared with the Jans of the other chapters. I chalk it up to a bad batch of turnip wine. Anyway..._

* * *

 **Just Desserts**

It had been a grueling day for all of them. They had returned to the pocket plane exhausted, but with the help of a hearty dinner brought to them by Cespenar, everyone was slowly beginning to relax.

As Anomen sat down to polish his armor, Jan approached him, waving a glass of turnip wine and smiling as sweetly as the bearded gnome possibly could.

"Anomen, my friend," he said, "I realize that I've been less than polite with you in the past and I wish to apologize."

Anomen gave him a surprised yet wary look. "Verily, you have played me most false."

Jan's smile broadened. "Indeed! All know that you're an unrepentant ass. 'Tis not my place to bring it up."

Anomen glowered and rubbed furiously at an imagined spot on his chestplate. "Shut up, gnome," he muttered.

Jan continued as if uninterrupted. "Your ugliness, both in body and soul, although true, is inappropriate for discussion and rankly impolite. You're stupid, poorly educated, and always smell faintly of lilacs, but it was wrong of me to bring attention to it."

"Silence before I CRACK YOUR SKULL!" Anomen shouted.

"Arrogant, drunken, whiny, pompous are common adjectives used to describe you, but I was wrong to say so. You are completely incapable of independent thought and soil yourself with regularity seldom found outside of a nursery. I shall no longer bring these things up in front of others." The gnome grinned and patted Anomen's shoulder. "Well I'm glad that, despite your idiocy, you managed to grasp the concept of my apology and mumble some poorly-worded forgiveness. Cheers!" With that said, Jan walked quickly out of the room.

Anomen's face turned white, then red, then he charged after the gnome with surprising speed. Laughing wildly, the gnome ran towards the pool room. He stopped in front of the main pool and bowed theatrically at Alaeth, who was floating languidly in the warm, bubbling water, wearing only a thin, black shift.

"It looks like your cleric has lost it," he said, "just like my uncle Runty did when he got a cursed sword. He wasn't really runty, in actuality, he was the perfect specimen of a gnome, it was just that he forgot that the sword was made for humans, so he always looked shorter than he was. It came to a sad end, of course. A griffin mistook him for a canape."

"Which does not explain how Anomen has 'lost it'," Alaeth said.

"You can see for yourself that he's madder than a cat drinking turnip beer, here he comes!"

Anomen ran into the room at that moment, but stopped short when he spotted their female companion. He bowed deeply with a muttered 'my lady', but glared at Jan even as he did so.

"I heard something about cracking Jan's skull, I believe," Alaeth remarked, lazily studying her hand.

Anomen paused briefly. "Indeed, I did say that, my lady."

"What's stopping you?"

Anomen's eyes lit up, and Jan's complexion paled. The duo raced out of the room again, but were stopped short at the doorway. Minsc was standing there, wailing and flailing a massive hammer about. "Boo is gone! Lost! Eaten by dragons! Oh, Boo!" he cried, tears streaming down his face.

A tiny squeak sounded from one of Jan's pockets. Minsc turned towards the sound, and his face slowly filled with dawning comprehension, then with utter rage.

"You.. you NAUGHTY GNOME!" he shouted. "BOO CAN ONLY STAND SO MUCH!" Roaring with berserker fury, Minsc brought his hammer down on the gnome's head with a sickening crunch.

-.-.-

Anomen and Alaeth stood over Jan's body as Minsc strolled towards his chambers, cooing soothingly to the little hamster that was held safely in his hands.

"I would restore him immediately, my lady, but my powers are spent," Anomen said matter-of-factly.

"It's all right. He can wait till morning. Besides, that gives us time to decide where best to wake him up."

"As always, you know best, my lady," Anomen said, offering her his arm before escorting her to their chambers.


	18. Wonders Never Cease

**Wonders Never Cease**

They were losing.

Over the course of the fight against Balthazar, they'd moved through the monastery, and they were now all in the courtyard, fighting under a sky the colour of dull steel. Every now and then, a flash of lightning lit up the battlefield, the brief glimpse of light seeming to freeze Balthazar in a single moment.

In between those flashes, he moved too fast for them to see at all. All his minions were beaten, but the Bhaalspawn monk himself moved as fast as ever, and didn't seem to have tired at all. Jan had fallen, Minsc had fallen, Imoen was out of spells, and Anomen was barely standing; Alaeth was the only one who seemed to have almost as much left in her as Balthazar did.

Almost would not be enough.

Aerie was out of spells, too, and she knew better than to try to attack Balthazar with her mace. There was only one thing she could do.

Never taking her eyes off the monk and her leader, who had entered a berserker rage, Aerie grabbed a wand of fire from her backpack. She pointed it squarely at Balthazar and activated it.

There was another bright flash in the skies, but nothing else happened. Balthazar was unscathed.

Aghast, Aerie looked at the wand in her hand. It was not jagged. It was not red. It looked like a cluster of soap bubbles attached to a broken branch.

 _The wand of wonder... Jan! Oooh, if he's not dead, I'll kill him!_

Then, she heard a faint mooing sound.

The mooing got steadily louder, and there was a rushing, whistling sound, as if a windstorm was approaching.

A flash of lighting showed a moment of time with Balthazar and Alaeth locked in a duel, both completely focused on each other.

There was a loud, wet thud. Then there was silence.

"What...? How...?" Alaeth asked, staring with bewilderment as Balthazar's body, crushed under the massive bulk of a black and white cow, turned into golden dust.


	19. Imminent Transcendence

**Imminent Transcendence**

The pocket plane was quiet on its final night of existence. Tomorrow, they would leave for the last time, and the pocket plane would collapse upon itself, leaving nothing behind. It was a sobering enough thought in itself, but as Anomen slowly made his way towards the outer ring of chambers, he had other matters on his mind.

He found her exactly where he expected her to be.

Alaeth was in the pool chamber, which was where she tended to go to relax. For some reason, its tranquil nature appealed to her, and he'd often find her resting in the largest pool, letting its healing waters wash away the aches and worries of the day. She was not doing that tonight. Instead, she was merely sitting on the edge, dipping her hand into the water and staring as if mesmerized at the ripples created by her fingers.

"I don't like the idea of destroying this room," she said, not looking up from the water. "I don't care about the rest, but these pools... I wish there were some way to keep them."

 _I am certain you can remake them one day_ , part of him wanted to say, but his mouth refused to say the words. "I know, my love," he said instead.

"Couldn't you sleep?" she asked, lazily moving her fingers through the water. She looked so frail and vulnerable as she sat there, dressed only in her tunic and smallclothes and with her black hair, which she usually wore tightly bound up, flowing loose over her shoulders. The peacefulness of the scene formed a stark contrast to how he had seen her immediately after she conquered the Ravager; her face covered in gore, her triumphant shout even as her berserker rage wore off, the flames in her ice blue eyes. Until right now, he'd have sworn she'd never looked more beautiful than she had at that moment.

"I woke and found you weren't there, my lady," he said. She turned slightly towards him, shifting enough that he could see the slender necklace that held Moira's ring. Asking her to marry him had been a mistake; he'd realized it as the words left his mouth. She had rebuffed him, asked him to wait until her destiny was decided, and she had been right to do so. _She must do what she must, and I cannot bind her_.

"I'm sorry," she said, still not looking at him. "I had a lot to think about."

Anomen cleared his throat. "My love, I must talk to you. I sense we are nearing... well, in truth I do not know," he said. "But your destiny fast approaches. I feel an ending is near, a time of great consequence - for you, and for us."

She turned fully and looked at him. Her eyes still held the glow he'd seen in them earlier, he noticed. _There will never be another like her_.

"Much has happened recently," he continued, "and I suspect we all know your destiny may transcend any mortal state. Alaeth, you are everything to me... but I fear you may be forced to leave me behind." He paused and drew a deep breath. This was so much harder than he'd thought.

"Don't speak of such things! Let us just enjoy what time we have left..."

 _Time... by this hour tomorrow, all will have changed. I know it in my heart._ "Truly... I would like nothing more, my lady. But you cannot pretend things are anything but what they are," Anomen said in a low voice that threatened to break if he raised it. "I... I want you to know that I will not stand in the way of your destiny, my love."

She stood up, now, and walked towards him.

He gazed into her eyes, letting them bind him; he feared his courage would fail if he looked away from her. "Our love is the most important thing in my world - more important than my family, my honour. You showed me life as I never knew it. But there are things stronger than love - even our love. We have both changed, and greater changes are still ahead, I fear," he said.

"You speak as if you already know something about my fate," she said quietly.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," he said. He took her hand in his, and barely resisted the urge to kneel before her. "Alaeth, I need you to know this... know that I will support you in whatever is to come, in whatever choices tomorrow will bring. And I will always serve you, with what power I have. Always."

She looked at him; first quietly, then questioningly, and finally with profound relief. "Thank you, my love," she said as she embraced him.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her and willed himself to not weep.


	20. Debt

**Debt**

Aran Linvail leaned back in his tub, relaxing in the warm, scented water. His evening bath was nearly sacred to him; he never let anyone disturb him at this hour, not even his mistresses. The quiet, peaceful bliss that came from laying in the water and letting his mind wander would only be ruined by company.

Someone coughed.

Startled, Aran sat up with a large splash. "Who dares..?!"

"Heya," a bright voice said from the shadows. It was not a voice he recognized.

"Guards!" he shouted.

"Oh, don't worry about them; I took good care of them." The speaker stepped out of the shadows. Her face was that of a young, blue eyed woman with a scar across one eyebrow, but her hair was stark white, and her eyes had a ancient look about them. She wore black robes with gold trim, and a gold circlet held her shoulder-length hair back from her face. Her hands were empty.

"Who are you?!" Aran demanded nervously.

"Just someone who wanted to have a little chat with you," the woman said in a cheery voice. "You don't have to get up," she continued, waving her hands in a complicated motion. The spell hit Aran with a brief flash, locking the muscles of his limbs into place, forcing him to sit in a rigid posture in the tub.

Cold sweat trickled down his neck. He tried to open his mouth, but his jaw muscles were locked as well.

"Now, let's talk," the woman said. "You see, I believe you knew my sister once. Alaeth of Candlekeep, the new Lady of Rage? Yes, I see the name rings a bell. You offered to help her find me when the Cowlies took me away."

 _ **This**_ _is Imoen of Candlekeep?_

"It was very sweet of you to offer her your help, seeing as she was new in town and almost nobody knew where Spellhold was. Except..." Imoen paused and raised a finger scoldingly at Aran, "except that you first made her scrounge up fifteen thousand gold - do you know how hard that is with no resources? - and then you kept making her run errands, hunt vampires and do whatnot for you before you'd tell her where I was!"

Imoen's expression saddened. "She came too late, you know. Because of you and your greed, she was forced to waste two months. Because of you, Irenicus got enough time to take over Spellhold. Because of you, Alaeth and I lost our souls for a while, and two monsters got the power to all but sack Suldanessellar. Thousands died there, all because **you** needed your money."

 _That's not fair! How could I have known?_

"I know this is the City of Coin. Everything has a price here. I just thought you should know what the price ended up being."

Imoen smiled. "And now that you know the price, it is time for you to pay it."

The last thing Aran saw before the flames consumed him was the outline of a fiery dragon's head growing out of Imoen's hands.


	21. Work in Progress

**Work in Progress**

"So there we were, right at the Throne of Bhaal itself..."

"Was it a really big chair?" little Willa asked.

Jan Jansen looked down at his little nieces and nephews, ten of them all told, and smiled. He had not realized it would feel so good to be home in his own house again, to sit in front of his own fireplace and educate the next generation, all eyes and ears that they were.

"See, that's the funny bit: there was no actual throne there," Jan said, letting himself sink deeper into his own armchair. It was warm and welcoming, its plushy cushions molded to perfection by the liberal application of many a Jansen buttock over the years, and its armrests boasted hidden compartments, full of any number of useful things; Jan's own addition to the family heirloom. He'd missed the chair almost as much as he'd missed his Ma's turnip stew. "Melly didn't care to sit; poor silly thing thought herself too high and mighty for that! No, what she had was a bunch of pools, and big shiny tubes that connected to the center. Those pools were full of power she'd stolen, and she stood there in the middle and let that power rain down on her. It made her strong, a bit like Aunt Pretty's special brew - except Melly didn't explode, not at first, at least. Now, we didn't want her to get stronger like that. So what do you think we did?"

"What? What?" the children clamored excitedly.

"We tricked her! Yes, we did. We killed all the beasties that guarded her - and there were lot and lots of them; I even thought I saw a griffin at one point, but it was just a fallen solar - and then we cut the tubes. Melly didn't like that, of course, so she set after us like a mountain fish that hadn't had its breakfast yet. But when she did that, she stepped right into the traps I'd set up for her. Bit her toes, they did!"

The children laughed.

"It was easy after that, of course. Old Melly was so busy hopping around on one foot, holding the other, and calling us nasty names that were completely and utterly uncalled for, that she completely forgot what she was there for! So we clobbered her, and won the day," Jan concluded. "Uncle Blarney would have been so ashamed of her."

"I heard Uncle Blarney dropped a hammer on his toe one day," cousin Nilar said. "He went on like nothing had happened, but his face turned all purple and steam shot out of his ears! And then his missus started to drop a hammer on his toe whenever she was boiling turnips, 'cause when the boiler looked like him she knew it was all done!"

"Didn't she put a griffin in that boiler once?" Hetty asked.

Jan leaned back into the warm depths of his chair, letting the children take over the stage with their stories. It was the best way for them to learn the art, after all.

He thought back to the traps he'd set for Melissan. Ingenious devices, really. The traps he could make now could be used for just about anything, especially when combined with a touch of magery. Why, they could even be keyed to one person, if he really wanted to.

He could rig a trap for Vaelag. It'd be quick. One of the ones that had nipped Melissan's toes should be enough to turn the Lissa-stealing, child-beating, too-big-for-his-britches petty thief who thought he was a crime lord into a pile of griffin feed.

There was only one teeny, tiny problem with that: such a fate was far too good for him.

No. He'd better stick with his original plan.

"Time for turnip tea," Ma Jansen said, ending story time with a platter of cups and cakes. The children shouted with glee and clustered around the platter; Ma left it to them, taking two cups with her to sit beside Jan.

"A bit too straightforward, I thought, but you'll spin a good tale from it yet, my boy," she said, handing him a cup.

"Thank you, Ma." Jan lifted his cup and drank deeply from it. Nobody made turnip tea like his Ma, and that was the truth!

"So... no more adventuring, you say. What do you intend to do now?"

"Smuggle monkeys," Jan said.


	22. Sparks

**Sparks**

The fireplace was lit. It was to be expected; winter was full upon them, and the day was cold.

He paused in front of the fire, letting himself draw upon its warmth, but ere long, he was obliged to take a step away. A smile crossed his face; it was far from the first time he let proximity scald him, and as always, comfort and pain went hand in hand within the flames.

He gazed into the flickering pattern of light and shadow, drawn in by its intensity and fascinated by its unpredictability. The fire was its own mistress, barely constrained by the boundaries the fireplace imposed upon it; it danced where it would.

Just as she had once done.

The memory of Saradush wreathed in flames rose unbidden in his mind. The blistering heat, the smoke, the screams... it was a recollection so clear it might have happened yesterday, and as clear as the imagery was the memory of how he had felt during those terrible days. In the sight of so much death, he had never felt more alive. And she... she had thrived.

The fire snapped. With a sharp pop, a piece of wood burst apart violently, sending up a small shower of sparks which winked out of existence as quickly as they had been formed.

There was a knock on the door; his oldest acolyte. "Sir, the supplicants have come," the young man said.

"Very well. I will be but a minute." He left the room to prepare for the ceremony, turning back in the doorway for a final glance at the fire.

She was the Lady of Rage, and anger was her province, but that was not where he saw her spirit the clearest. Nay, his truest reminder of her, the clearest echo of her being, would always be wreathed in flames.


	23. Pilgrimage

**Pilgrimage**

Many years had passed since Jaheira last visited Trademeet. The town had changed, grown, in the years since Faldorn's attacks: a myriad of new houses stood outside the old town wall, and a second wall, taller and stronger than the first, had been raised to protect both old and new from what might lurk in the woodlands beyond. Cernd's hopes for reconciliation between town and forest had clearly been for nothing, just as Jaheira always had expected.

She passed through the outer and inner gates and headed for the town square. There, just across from the old Temple of Waukeen, she stopped in front of what had once been the mansion of one of Trademeet's leading families. The family was gone, destroyed in a pointless feud with some of their peers, and their ancestral home was now the main seat of the Church of Rage.

The front doors stood wide open.

Jaheira walked quietly through the main chamber of the temple. She noted how the floor above had been removed to make the chamber loftier, as suited a place of worship. Thick drapes the colour of ashes and blood covered the walls and hid all internal doorways from sight. A sword - Her sword - lay prominently displayed upon an altar of obsidian that stood under a painted glass window. A clenched fist, the holy symbol of the church, was embossed in gold on the front of the altar, and the sunlight that flowed through the window was transformed into illusory flames which danced across the sword and the fist.

"Harpers are not welcome here."

Jaheira turned to look at Aerie. The avariel's face had grown as hard as her voice had, and her tightly braided hair and charcoal-coloured robes only served to enhance the severeness of her expression. There was no timid circus girl here, only a High Priestess of Rage. "I know," Jaheira said. "I just... I wanted to see."

"And?"

"This place is grander than I expected," she said politely. "You have come far in a decade, for a new faith."

"There is strength in anger, for those who dare seek it."

"I heard that Delryn runs a second temple. Somewhere to the north?"

"It is a monastery. Only the initiated may enter."

"I see," Jaheira said. Her gaze returned to the altar; a young human man was now kneeling before it, deep in prayer or contemplation. She could not see his face.

"Unless you seek what we have to offer, you should leave," Aerie said.

"I suppose that is best," Jaheira said evenly, and let Aerie lead her out of the temple. She stepped out through the front doors and into the clean light of day, while the High Priestess halted on the threshold. Jaheira turned to her.

"There is one thing I must ask," she said. "She was always conflicted. The path she chose... in the end, was she happy?"

An odd smile crossed Aerie's face. "Who is?" she replied, and pulled the front doors shut.


End file.
